The Fall of Elvhenan
by Foxtrot Uniform Charlie Kilo
Summary: The fall of the great Elvish empire was not as unjust as the Dalish protest; both sides were at fault. Though, you cannot blame them for not knowing, they had lost all of their history. Perhaps they would not feel so proud if they knew the full truth of their history, the one long since forgotten.


It's funny how history works. Someone does something of importance, whether good or bad. The people who were there proceed to tell others of what that person did, embellishing the story in some way. This continues on, growing both greater and smaller with each telling. Eventually, someone writes it down, and it becomes recorded history; official. However, that does not make it constant, immovable. Governments and societies take the stories, and change them to best suit their needs. Men and women become idols, idols become symbols, symbols become deities.

Perhaps you've heard the stories from the Dalish? The ones of their gods? Of their lost heritage? Apparently, long ago, the Elvhen once controlled the entirety of Thedas. They were once immortal, once all in possession in magic. They worshipped the nine creators, and shunned the forgotten ones, all of whom were betrayed by Fen'Harel, the dread wolf. Their mighty empire was brought down by the oppression of humanity, and they were forced into slavery. This is what the Dalish believe, what they've managed to piece together from fragments of history left behind from the fall of Elvhenan.

But they are wrong. Not completely, but mostly; well, the important parts at least.

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_Fortieth Year of Elgar'nan  
Approximately thirty years before the Tevinter Era_

I stood stock still, eyes held attentively in front of me. My small, gaunt hands gripped the rough, textured bark of the sticks I'd found. I held them in front of me, pointed at an enemy no one else could see. My legs were spread apart in a combat stance, my body perfectly balanced.

"Wide arc diagonal slash!"

The chant of a thousand children affirming the command rushed from the wide thicket, followed by the sounds of a thousand blades slicing through the air with precise, strong strikes. I followed in turn, slashing the stick in my right hand in as perfect an arc I could manage.

"Offhand thrust and twist!"

Following the instruction, I plunged my left hand forward, unwavering as the stick stabbed straight through my imaginary target. With a flick of my wrist, the stick was twisted and removed from my non-existent combatant.

"Counter and blindside!"

The imaginary target thrust his own weapon at me, only for me to parry it with my sticks, ducking under the arm and thrusting both my pseudo-weapons into the back of the make- believe target.

For nine summers now, this had been what I did in my spare time. Just beyond the thicket was the Daeel'his Military Academy, where the native children deemed proficient enough were taught to be the defenders of the land. Of course, I couldn't apply to learn there, mostly thanks to my heritage. So, since I'd been able to walk, this is all that I have done; learn knife-play from hearsay, and pretend to be the warrior I could never be. I often entertained fantasies of fighting in a massive war, of becoming a hero of the empire. My mother would always scold, tell me to bow my head and accept my place.

"Beak any illusion of grandeur" she would say; such faith she has in me! Some might even accuse her of being too lenient of my behaviour. I couldn't help the frown on my face at the thought of that woman; downtrodden and willingly ignorant of her chains.

Discarding the thoughts from my mind, I continued following the instructions of the drill sergeant as he beat the movements into the minds of his students. I grit my teeth as the sticks rubbed the skin from my battered fingers, and the rough, ragged cloths of my body scratched and itched at my skin. The decrepit hood I'd made clung to my sweat stricken features. My frail, weak body kept up the increasing pace of the movements. My spindly, stringy muscles pulled taut under my thin, ragged skin. Mid-afternoon came, and the instructor dismissed the students, yet I kept moving, kept assaulting the make-believe target with all my force. I combined sheer force with the dextrous movements I'd taught myself in a style that any of the natives would have frowned at; too unconventional. My heart beat erratically, trying to keep up with the strenuous activity. It was about sunset when I felt my body begin to cave in, the exhaustion creeping into my bones, my vision beginning to fade, my breathing ragged and raw.

"Oi! What do ya' think yar' doin' there, _Shemlen_?"

I turned on my spot immediately, my hands dropping the sticks in sheer terror. Standing in the wake of the blazing orange sky were three men, all clad in green and golden armour, symbolic of the native guard. They bore long-swords, all gleaming silver and gold under the tangerine sky. My wide eyes darted from soldier to soldier; my already heavy breathing became shallower and sharper.

"Didn' ya' 'ear us, ya' li'l _shem?_ We asked ya' what yar' doin' 'ere?" The middle one asked, raising his weapon in threat, "_shem _aren' allowed out after curfew."

One of the other turned to face the leader, a grin barely hidden by the curved helm. "Reckon we should teach this li'l _shem_ a lesson on followin' rules?"

I didn't give them a chance to continue their train of thought. I took off into the thicket with as much strength as I could muster. I ducked in between the trees, diving through the shrubbery. The soldiers evidently took chase, if the rustle of bushes and snapping of branches was any indication. I panted heavily as I pushed myself as hard as I could. Black rings closed in on my vision. My failing legs fumbled along the ground. Crumbling leaves and heavy footfall grew louder. My heart beat in my ears. The world began to sway. I continued to sprint. I tripped and stumbled. Thorns tore at my legs. Branches scratched at my face. I could hear the soldiers shouting for me to return. Blood obscured my vision. My throat ached.

And I fell.

I cursed as my body tumbled forward, collapsing into one of the many smaller bushes, thorns biting into my weak flesh. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I fought the urge to sob. I curled myself up into a ball, trying my best to make myself as inconspicuous as possible. The crunch of metal boots on the crisp ground grew closer. My body began to tremble as the air grew colder. Droplets crashed upon my skin with an irregular rhythm, the cold seeping through the rags wrapped around my body. The plinks of rain hitting steel resounded in the empty night sky, increasing in beat as the seconds droned by. The blazing orange sky begun to die; the darkness washed over me with a sense of finality. I couldn't stop my jaw from jittering nervously in the cold. I watched from the cover of my haggard bush as the soldiers came into view, burning orange flames held tightly within their hands, the flames licking at the fingers like a rabid beast attacking its prey. Flickering light revealed the chaotic forest around me. My breath caught in my throat, my heart froze.

The rain now beat down, assailing the ground with a desperate ferocity. Pangs of terror shot through my petrified form as the malicious glares of the soldiers hunting their inept prey passed over me. The paced the difficult terrain with a casual indifference, their steps measured and drilled. Blades were drawn in menace, the long, slender blades lit gold by the flames contained by the thin fingers of the soldier's off-hand. Dark, beady green eyes surveyed their surroundings, trying to pick up any anomaly. Dry, muted sobs wracked my body as the soldiers drew closer. My body stung as the water slipped into my wounds, the many gashes and scratches being washed clean by the rain. Diluted blood ran through my vision, hiding the rest of the world from me, though I made no move to wipe my eyes clean. They stopped collectively just metres away from my hiding spot, watching the forest floor with a burning passion.

My heart jumped as the lead soldier plunged his weapon into the earth with a sigh, reaching up to the curved, notched helm obscuring his face, removing it with haste. His face was strong, the features defined, the flesh healthy, laden with thick muscle. His skin glowed a sickly gold under the light of the flame, the green tint to his features blending with the flickering orange. His large, green eyes watched on with renewed intensity, as if woken by the rain now whipping at his face. His large, pointed ears twitched in anticipation, detecting even the slightest noise. I willed myself to hold in my fear, my body held in perfect stillness.

"Come along, boys. We got better things ta' be doin' than chasin' a li'l _shem_."

Relief washed over me in that brief moment, though I daren't release my breath. With a nod of affirmation and a chuckle, the others sheathed their weapons. The moment was fleeting, as they took up combat stances, the flames now wrapping themselves up to the elbows of the native warriors, glowing with enough might that nature itself recoiled around them. I gripped onto my hood, yanking it over my face with as much force I could muster. The chilling cold only lasted for a moment longer, before I felt myself bathed in the all-consuming fire. I bit my gaunt, malnourished fingers as the flames washed over the exposed flesh on the hand holding my hood, burning my frail skin in an excruciating cacophony of pain. Though my hood hid it, the light still broke through the decrepit cloth, the bright light searing my eyes as my mind fought my body to succumb to unconsciousness. I silently screamed as I could smell my skin boiling and bubbling, melting away under the intense heat. Pain screeched through my system, tempting me to let go of the thin cloth protecting my face. Tears began to stream down my features, only to burn my skin in their wake. I could hear nothing but the incessant cracking and snapping as the trees and bushes around me screamed in protest to the flames. My throat dried in the sizzling air, any voice I could have had in that moment stripped as I inhaled the magical flames.

And then it was over.

The chilling air crashed upon me, flooding my system with shock. If the flames were painful, this was absolutely excruciating. The cold, hard rain slammed into my body mercilessly, assaulting my cooked flesh with a ravenous hunger. I couldn't bring myself to scream. I couldn't even cry any more. I pleaded to any god out there, in that moment of weakness, for them to take me, to take my life; no answer came. No relief, no reprieve; just the ruthless onslaught of pain and the struggle for consciousness. I released the hood in my hand, surveying the damage with utmost horror. Left in the place of a hand, a charred, blackened skeleton remained. I laughed mirthlessly; of course the gods wouldn't take mercy. Why would they care for a race they had long since abandoned?


End file.
